


Orange Juice

by Anonymous



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Cheating, Enid can't sleep, Enid is Seventeen, F/M, Flirting, Kissing, Non-Linear Narrative, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Probably with good reason, Rare Pairings, Swearing, Vaginal Sex, and neither can the author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28465125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Enid is (not) sleeping over at Carl's house, she goes downstairs during the night to get away from her friend's snoring, and has a chance encounter with Rick.
Relationships: Enid & Carl Grimes, Lori Grimes/Rick Grimes, Rick Grimes/Enid
Kudos: 6
Collections: Anonymous





	Orange Juice

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely inspired by a couple of lines in Semi_problematic's fic Hard Candy - part of the Boy Next Door series which is so good and you should read it, like, now: " _Then again, Rick always got red when Enid was around in her too tight and too small clothes. Carl smirked at the thought. His sweet father wanting nothing more than to wreck her. It was funny to him, how Rick played so good but wanted such bad things._ "

Rick lay awake in the undisturbed gloom, trying to quell his mind. His brain refused to shut off for the night, far too consumed by thoughts of who was in the room next to his and Lori's. It must have been at least one in the morning by that point and he had a meeting scheduled for eight-thirty.

Sleep simply didn't arrive. Lori's slumber remained peacefully uninterrupted beside Rick, unaware of his state of mind (as usual). She never seemed overly concerned with his inner monologue - maybe due to a lack of willingness to ask and disturb the peace in their cookie-cutter relationship, or simply lack of care. Either way, he couldn't kick the lingering feeling that she'd been pulling away from him recently, both emotionally and physically, and he didn't know what it was about. Yet another thing that fuelled his growing frustration and insomnia. 

Carl snored. Enid scowled.

Even when both parties were awake, those two short, unpoetic sentences fittingly summed up the nature of their friendship. She loved Carl like a brother but sometimes she wished to see his body at the bottom of a soundproof well. From great appreciation often comes great annoyance, and that was true for them both.

Of course, Enid was the houseguest this time, and therefore the very attractive idea of locking her best friend in his own wardrobe was not a viable option. Didn't stop her thinking about it though.

After vainly balancing a total of three pillows on Carl's face, Enid padded downstairs for a welcome respite. Maybe some orange juice would drown her urge to smother her friend and cease his snoring once and for all. 

Enid sat at the kitchen island, trying to make sense of a magazine whose target demographic was the American police presence. It extended to the fire department as well, and some of the pages threw hospital staff a bone, but mainly it was dropped off at police stations and sheriff's departments. The page with sections about the best way to polish police badges almost lulled her to sleep by itself.

Earlier, Lori had distractedly told Enid to help herself to anything in the fridge, so that's what she did, sipping orange juice as she scanned the words with little interest.

If shuffling footsteps hadn't indicated someone's arrival at the bottom of the stairs, she'd have leapt out of her skin when the fridge door squeaked open behind her.

Enid scoffed, "woke _yourself_ up snoring too, you woolly-ass fucking sheep?" She asked without looking up, not even bothering to cringe at how her speech sounded, creaky from disuse. 

"Somethin' like that," said a voice that was decidedly not Carl's. The deep Southern drawl that Carl had somehow dodged was somewhat of a giveaway.

Enid spun around, eyes wide, "I'm so sorry, I thought you were Carl..." _Oh god, Rick's shirtless._

"Heh. Easy mistake to make. Both got that youthful glow goin' on," Rick laughed - much to Enid's relief - as he didn't find whatever he was looking for in the fridge. The door closed with a suctioned _click_ and Enid realised she was still watching his every movement. She turned back to the magazine just as he came over to stand near her, leaning against the kitchen island. Enid's peripheral vision told her that he'd taken a sip straight from the juice carton (a habit she would scold Carl for, but it was kind of hot when Rick did it).

"You thinkin' of joining the force?" Enid glanced down from where she wasn't gazing at his biceps.

"No, just browsing. Uniforms are kinda hot." She stated without thinking. God, she was tired. And suddenly horny. And really confused as a result.

He nodded knowingly, more than a slight smile tangible on his face, "shame. You're smart, we could use someone like you in the office." The man looked her up and down without so much as a hint of subtlety.

It was hard for Rick to keep his eyes from wandering. Enid wore a pair of baggy little pyjama shorts and a shirt that was far too large to be her own. It hung off her shoulder casually. The particular shirt, Rick noted with a special kind of excitement, used to be his own before Carl claimed it from the dryer a week ago. He silently thanked his son for having no concept of personal belongings. But after all, you snooze you lose in the Grimes household. The plaid jacket that they'd both become rather fond of technically 'belonged' to Carl, but Rick planned on changing that soon.

"So you got a uniform kink, huh?" He asked after a pause, winking. It was lucky that she was on the stool because her legs may have actually given out beneath her. He was _definitely_ flirting, right? Or just teasing in a way that he probably shouldn't?

She smiled innocently at him, "better when the uniform's off." Where had all this confidence come from? She very nearly checked the orange juice carton for alcoholic content or some kind of magic potion.

"Touché. I can drink to that...." he muttered, throwing a devilish grin in the girl's direction as he brought the carton to his lips once again. This time she didn't bother hiding the fact that she was staring at his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. 

A few minutes passed, consisting of enough vailed flirting to rival a Summer nightclub. Rick kept glancing at the top of her - well, his - shirt and her legs while she battled to stop her own eyes wandering to his sweatpants and bare torso. God, Carl's dad was an attractive man. He was all muscles and cheekbones, perfect hair and gazes that could make her goddamn knees wobble.

"Are you and my son fucking?" Rick asked bluntly, holding back a smirk when Enid choked on the mouthful of orange juice she'd just sipped. It dribbled down her chin, etching a wet line onto her neck which travelled below the loose shirt that Rick decided looked better on her.

"Excuse me?" was the slightly hoarse response between coughs. She was looking up at him with these big, innocent eyes as if, behind the wheezing, she didn't know exactly what he was asking.

He turned to her fully, taking a step closer. "Fucking. Are you. And my son."

"We're too young for that, Mr Grimes," _holy_ shit. She even twirled a lock of her hair and batted those long eyelashes extra slow for him, "besides, he's g- well, that's really a conversation for the two of you, when he's ready."

"I know he's gay, girl, I'm not that oblivious. Think he's got the hots for this older guy we know -can't really miss the way he looks at him."

"Yeah... wait, then why did you ask?" Genuine confusion broke out on her face and Rick wanted to kiss the expression right off of her. He wanted to make those hazel eyes flutter shut and feel her delicate hands in his hair. He shouldn't be thinking about a seventeen year old girl - let alone his son's best friend - like this. But nothing was going to stop him now. Not even thoughts of his wife asleep upstairs. He had a feeling that she was getting up close and personal with Shane recently anyway. Or actually, anyone but Rick. Divorce might be on the horizon but he had to be sure, and he had to think about how that particular decision would affect Carl. But not now.

"Wanted to know if you're single..." he lied. Enid was dating that brunette kid, who was far too much of a loser for her. Not in the least bit nervous, Rick stepped forward, his hips just short of where her bare knees hung off the side of the stool, "'cause I'm just curious."

Rick portrayed the ambience of a man who was _far_ more than curious.

"I'm with Ron. He's nice..." she started but that was all she could say about him. She'd always felt that they were together out of convenience rather than any sort of spark or even love between them. She didn't mind hanging out with him as friends but he was about as interesting as a hay bale, and his little brother matched.

"But..." Rick took another step towards her, his hipbone bumping her knee as he urged her to continue. Sparks of want flickered up her legs and she tried to ignore the feeling.

"I've been thinking of breaking it off with him," she admitted, looking to her right at the kitchen island. With a great deal of confidence, Rick put a hand out and encased her chin, so she could only look straight up at him. Her eyes flickered to his lips - was he closer than before? Mere _inches_ separated them. She was so screwed, "just, uh, haven't found the right opportunity..."

"How's about I give you some incentive," Rick stated with the undertones of a question. Then his lips were on hers and Enid's heart skipped a beat. It soon compensated for it by hammering at her chest like one of those hyperactive cuckoo clocks you see in horror movies. The hand on her chin fell to lightly rest on her neck, the other on her bare thigh, fingers stroking just under the hem of her shorts. Her mouth moved against his of its own accord.

Enid would be the first to admit that she liked to flirt and tease but she never thought that it would go _this_ far. She never thought Rick would make a move on her, _especially_ not with his wife presumably upstairs. She still kissed him back though with clumsy vigour, lips sliding against his, all rushed and inexperienced. He was suddenly standing right there between her legs, deepening the kiss. She gasped into his mouth. This was so much better than kissing Ron.

"What about Lori?" She said as soon as she'd managed to find an exit from the intoxicating kiss, "is she cool with this?"

This was a rather stupid question but at least she asked it. She could tick that box. Rick's heavy breathing mingled with hers and he shook his head.

"I can't excuse kissing you, girl. It's just a thing Lori can't know. Can't help it, you wear these tight little clothes when you come over and my wedding ring gets so fuckin' heavy," his voice was low, partially to keep quiet, partially out of lust. She'd never heard him swear before. Against his better judgement, he took her hand, guiding it towards his cock, visibly hard in his sweatpants, "this is your doing, Enid, you're like a little playboy gal just begging to be fucked. Can't stop myself."

Her wide eyes snapped up towards his, lower lip between her teeth as she experimentally massaged his erection, unsure of what she was really doing, "I won't tell if you won't." She'd never liked Lori much anyway, "I want you."

Enid was pretty sure that Carl saw this coming. He'd made comments before about how Rick looked at her (or decisively _didn't_ look at her), especially in July when she'd wear skimpy crop tops that exposed far more than a teenager should. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't noticed Rick stealing glances even before Carl mentioned it. Maybe she'd let her strap slip down her shoulder a little once or twice while he went about his business on the other side of the room, pretended not to notice his gaze.

Rick kissed her like she was the only girl in the world, like his wife wasn't upstairs. It would have been ironic if it wasn't so hot. He was handsy, too, touching her everywhere with calloused fingertips like he wanted to feel every part of her body.

"Guest bedroom." Rick announced without bothering to pull away. His lips grazed over hers and the words sent a thrill down her spine. She needed to be closer. 

It's morning and everything hurts.

Not stinging, just a natural ache, dull and unremarkable. Enid is back in Carl's room after the whirlwind that took place during the night. Did she imagine it? She glances over at Pillow Mountain on her friend's head. He's still fast asleep, as is the rest of the neighbourhood.

Images of the night come flooding back, Rick's hands all over her, whispered words of want flowing between them, a magnetic attraction right under Lori's nose. Blushing, Enid rises quietly, her legs tingling from lack of use. She remembers a similar feeling when Rick pulled her forward on the kitchen stool, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist so he could lift her seemingly effortlessly. A perfect tessellation combined with the feeling of his biceps flexing under her fingers as they made their way down the hall.

It's still early and she hasn't been met with an awful amount of sleep (neither has Rick). If the silence in the house is anything to go by, she's alone in consciousness as she hops down the familiar stairs towards the bathroom. On the way, she passes the cabinet that Rick bumped into in the darkness, sending them both into a fit of hushed giggling.

Cold floors contrast the heat of the encounter and she remembers the intensity of everything, the moral ambiguity and the thought that they really shouldn't, but the knowledge that they would anyway.

_Rick shut the door by pushing Enid up against it as softly as he could, mindful of his hopefully sleeping family. She thought he deserved a medal because doing anything softly in that moment was near impossible. Rick's weight against her was like a tidal wave; an immovable force, the hardness in his sweatpants pressing against the thin material at her crotch, his lips moving forcefully against hers. Strong hands gripped her small thighs._

After a futile attempt not to blush while diving past the guest bedroom door, Enid clicks the lock shut in the bathroom. It's a large room - being a deputy sheriff pays well and she's pretty sure Lori is a drug dealer or something - with bright artificial lights and a huge mirror plastered above the sink.

Her hair is a little messy and she grabs the brush next to the sink, pulling it through the brunette strands to make it look like she didn't sleep with her best friend's dad less than six hours ago.

_"Will they wake up?" Enid asked, nodding at the ceiling as she fell back onto the bed. She scrambled up it, nervous excitement battling her arousal at the sight of the older man following her to the headboard. He could easily destroy her if he wanted._

_"Doubt it. Carl wouldn't stir if a damn plane crashed into his bed, and Lori and I are the furthest room from here," it sounded like he'd thought it out, his voice hushed just to be sure. His hands rushed to the hem of their shirt, not bothering to ask before tugging it over her head._

_She'd never imagined that someone's tongue trailing up from her chest to her neck could feel so good but she had to hold back a startled moan at the sensation of Rick clearing up the line of orange juice that had fallen down her bra earlier._

Enid pulls her shirt down a little to see the marks on her throat, blossoming and purple right down to her collarbone. She thanks God, the holy ghost and fucking Santa Claus that her parents are out of town. Their reaction would have been catastrophic. Annoyingly, they didn't like the idea of her being with someone who knew what they were doing (which is probably why they approved of Ron).

She thinks of Rick kissing and sucking at the soft skin of her throat, being too rough and too gentle at the same time. This is proof that it actually happened - marks that are sensitive to the touch, each one provoking a memory.

_There was nothing slow or sensual about it, just rapid, burning impulse and desire driving them both. Clothing that they would later have to awkwardly scoop up was tossed to the floor, a testament to the electric lust running between them. Later didn't exist._

The girl had assumed that when she told Rick she was a virgin, he would panic and decide that her first time was meant to be special, with someone she loved. But his mouth pulled into a taut smirk, eyes dark and desiring, "never been fucked?" he pondered, "you're so damn cute, how did that happen?"

A rather convenient box of condoms in the adjacent drawer had proven useful and while Rick slipped one on, Enid had chance to wonder if she'd regret it later, if it would hurt. Lip bitten in anticipation, she decided she didn't care. Now, standing close to the mirror, styling her hair in a way that would cover the bruises on her neck, she approves of her decision.

Words. There were words, provocative, sexual words that Rick would never in a million years utter or maybe even think about during the day, with his golden triangle family and cute little house in the suburbs. Smoothing out her ruffled clothing, Enid doesn't want to forget them, and she doubts she ever will. Maybe to think of late at night, maybe to giggle about with friends - the speaker remaining anonymous.

_"I'm gon' fuck you into the mattress, girl, get you all riled up 'til you're begging me to let you come." He practically growled into her ear. Did he get more Southern? This was a whole new side of him she'd never seen before and she loved it. Slurred and uninhibited._

Maybe being the perfect Georgian father with the perfect little family is too much of a title to uphold. He needed to let loose, and Enid allowed him that. As she leaves the bathroom to throw some more pillows at Carl (the _Wake Up_ pillows, not the _Stop Snoring You Fucking Animal_ ones - big difference), she considers this. Rick had helped her in the same way. Teenage hormones combined with the pressure to get flawless grades gave her the need to act out, to do something exactly like this. Admittedly, there were rungs she skipped before the 'have sex with your best friend's married dad' stage, but she doesn't regret it. Not even when she notes a framed photo on the wall of the happy Grimes family on vacation.

She almost trips on the stairs at the memory of Rick's large, tanned hand covering her mouth when she came, little moans and whimpers flowing through the gaps between his fingers. Her nails were digging into his sides and her eyes were squeezed shut at that point but she knew Rick was watching her every move. She smiles coyly. They have a dirty little secret. 

Later that morning, Rick, Lori, Enid and Carl are sitting in the kitchen as they'd done countless times when she visited. Hot croissants litter the table between them, casual conversation and carefree laughter being tossed around like pizza dough. 

Rick had thrown Enid a mischievous glance when she first entered the room, and she'd returned it once Lori's back was turned. It really _is_ their dirty little secret but apparently Carl is the oracle of all knowledge because he raised his eyebrows and smirked into a croissant upon witnessing the exchange. He knows. Lori has no reason to suspect anything, being her usual self, hiding calculating eyes behind her wide smile and quick wit. There is something tense and weighted underneath her serene attitude. She's ready to pounce. 

A few moments of silence pass and before Rick can comment on the traffic report, Lori sets her eyes on Enid. Beady, like an owl moving in for the kill with a voice far too soft for the connotations, "what are those marks on your neck, sweetie?"

Enid smiles, the most honestly abashed expression she can muster purveying across her features. She's always been a good liar and what better time to put that to the test? "Oh yeah, these are from Ron."

A raised eyebrow, "they weren't there yesterday, girl-"

Carl interjects by obnoxiously clearing his throat, "Ron and Enid, they, uh, they aren't exclusive, mom..."

Lori just looks from her son to Enid and back a few times, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips. She stops probing and drops the conversation quickly after that, seeming to draw her own conclusions from Carl's words. The butter knife loosens in her hand.

Rick is dutifully inspecting the margarine by that point, evidently fascinated at the fact that it's not butter! He doesn't see the grateful nod that Enid sends Carl's way, and he probably assumes that his son is completely oblivious. Enid knows better. She prohibits her eyes from wandering towards Rick because she's certain that Lori is still watching her like a hawk.

Carl's smirk doesn't disappear, returning Enid's nod with a cheeky wink when his parents begin discussing something inane.

_What an eventful fucking night_ , Enid thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> Are there any Ricknid shippers out there?


End file.
